Disclaimer:
The characters are mine! They may share a passing resemblance with
other people but I just blame their stylists. Sequel to ‘The Binding Tie’ you
really need to read that first in order to understand what is going on here.

Violence/Sex:
Slavery exists in this fic as does extreme violence. Sexual violence
of a m/f variety in here. Also a loving consensual f/f relationship. If you’re
too young to vote, you should probably go elsewhere. Feedback: Much appreciated mjb1_1@hotmail.com

Chapter
13

Bradley could barely believe that all those days
of toil and planning had finally come to this. He was a senator! He finally
had the power that he had always longed for! Glancing over at Cliff, who stood,
as always, in the wings, he shot him a victorious wink; Cliff’s reply was a
rather smug grin. Focusing his attention back on the camera which stood before
him, he heard the producer counting down to the start of the press conference.

The speech began in rallying fashion and Cliff patted
himself on the back once more. Everything that came out of his friends mouth
had been penned and orchestrated by him, Bradley thought the policies were his
own and in truth, some of the ideas had been born from their conversations but
Cliff was pulling all the strings. He focused back in on the big man’s voice
just in time to hear his favourite part.

“Slavery and the problems created by freed slaves
have been at the heart of my campaign. Violence, riots and general public unrest
have led me to believe that now is the time to change the rules. To crack down
on freedom. To do what needs to be done to protect our liberty.” His eyes
held such conviction, his jaw firm, he was a hero that the people could get
on board with and Cliff had to stop himself rubbing his hands together in glee.

“In the ensuing weeks and months we will be taking
in all slaves who are in the public domain. Private owners will be expected
to hand over their property for tagging and in some cases these slaves will
be removed. Anybody who has been suspected of freeing slaves will have all
ownership rights revoked. All freed slaves will be expected to report to local
authorities for repatriation. There is no such thing as a free slave!” His
fist hit the lectern and the people in the small audience cheered. As confident
as he appeared, Bradley felt something nagging at the back of his mind as he
moved on in his speech. Trying to ignore the doubt he could feel, he pushed
on.

****

Yesterday had been filled with fear and an overwhelming
feeling of loss. The large group of slaves had been a mix of subdued acceptance
and barely concealed rage. Hunter had tried to keep her spirits buoyed, too
little avail. She was too used to disappointment and pain not to believe that
this could be true. She had done as the big male suggested and listened to
the wardens as they went about their business. They genuinely seemed to believe
that with the induction of Dettore that no slaves would be released. What she
couldn’t understand was how Dettore was going to get legislation through that
quickly.

Today she woke to find herself staring into the
cold eyes of the man who had dragged her to book in ten days before. Hope had
bloomed in her chest as he gruffly ordered her to dress and shackled her wrists
behind her back. Knowing that any questions she had would be ignored she had
remained silent, simply following him outside.

Now she stood in front of the cattle wagon, surrounded
by a large group of slaves, all at the end of their treatment. She looked over
and locked eyes with the man who had spoken to her the day before. Raising
a speculative eyebrow in his direction, she was rewarded with an abashed shrug
of his shoulders as he cast his eyes to the floor. Clearly all that worry had
been for nothing! She should have known better than to believe anything she
heard in this place. That was the point of being here, to break down your defences
and make you malleable and suggestible.

Feeling a forceful hand at her back she approached
the small, dark opening in the truck. Climbing up into the truck and guided
to one of the tiny cells, she went easily, perching onto the hard metal bench.
The warden backed out and closed the door, sealing her into the clanging darkness.
To her left and right she could hear muffled voices and the clang of doors closing.
The relief in the air was palpable and made clear by the lack of resistance
being shown by the assembled slaves.

As the truck began to roll, throwing her back further
on the slick seat, she thought of home. Seeing the children again would be
wonderful, she wondered how much they might have changed in ten days. A silly
thought but it did seem as though the children were always changing, evolving
slowly into the adults that they would become. Then her mind could not help
but turn to the bright star at the centre of her universe. Francesca. Soon
she would hold the other woman in her arms and she could hardly wait.

****

Salvatore sat in his study, pen tapping agitatedly
on the polished cherry of the desk. His eyes read and re-read the document
that sat in front of him with a growing sense of dread. Quite how the new senator
had managed to get this pushed through and out into the public domain in just
two days was beyond him, but he had.

The startlingly white sheet of paper proclaimed
in bold, black letters, one simple thing. Their right to own slaves was revoked
until such time as their alleged freeing of slaves was proved or discounted.
Looking out of the window he could see his daughter and grandchildren preparing
a barbecue. It was supposed to be a celebration dinner to welcome Hunter home.
He was going to have to go out and shatter his daughter’s heart, again.

Wrestling himself out of his chair he moved closer
to the glass, pressing his palm to the pane beside his daughter. “I’m so sorry,
princess.” The words were whispered as he pulled his hand away and dejectedly
made his way to the garden.

****

The van slowed to a stop after hours of travel.
The occupants had all began to grow concerned as they had driven on and on,
nobody had disembarked. Hunters mind was reeling; she knew that her home with
the Prince’s was not this far away. A cold ball of fear settled back into her
stomach, growing bigger and bigger with each passing mile.

She wasn’t going home.

Nobody was going home.

“I’m sorry, Chess.” The words were whispered in
defeat as her head fell back onto the icy cool metal.

****

Silent tears coursed down a high cheek boned face
as blue eyes stared desolately into the night. Lost. Alone. Terrified.

The End

Thank you for reading. I hope you have enjoyed
the continuing story of these two women. Hunter and Francesca will be back
in the third and final section of their story, The Tightest Knot, soon. Until
then I hope you will continue to read my fiction. MJB